When Ulysses was a boy, a traveling circus passed through his hometown of Georgetown, Ohio. Back in the 1820s—before television, before movies, before radio—the arrival of a circus was a major event, especially in a rural village like Georgetown. The big top promised amazing acrobats, wacky clowns, death-defying trapeze artists, and all kinds of exotic animals. So, naturally young Ulyss (as he preferred to be called) rushed to watch the show.

When Ulyss arrived, the audience was admiring a beautiful but strong-willed pony in the center of the ring. The ringmaster stepped out to greet the audience and issued his challenge:

Ulyss raised his hand to volunteer, but a much bigger boy elbowed his way to the front of the line. The pony quickly threw the boy off, leaving him sprawled facedown on the sawdust floor.

So the ringmaster repeated his challenge.

Once more, little Ulyss volunteered. This time he was the one chosen, and a sea of hands lifted him onto the back of the miniature horse. Just as it had with the older boy, the pony did everything it could to shake off its rider. It reared up on its hind legs, pawing at the sky, but Ulyss seized hold of its mane, dug his heels into its flanks, and hung on.

At last the pony calmed and allowed Ulyss to guide it around the ring. The crowd roared with delight. When he had completed his circuit, Ulyss was hoisted aloft like a conquering hero, wearing a joyous smile on his face.

From that day on, Ulysses Grant couldn’t get enough of horses: riding them, caring for them, training them. By the time he was five, he could ride standing up on the back of a trotting horse, holding onto the reins to keep his balance. By the age of seven, he had found a job hauling wood in a horse-drawn wagon. A neighbor expressed concern that little Ulyss could be trampled or kicked in the head if he wasn’t careful.

But Ulyss’s mother told her not to worry. “Horses seem to understand Ulysses,” she bragged.

More than anything, Ulyss wanted a horse of his own. When he was eight years old, he finally found one to his liking. A farmer named Ralston was selling one of his colts, and Ulyss had saved up enough money from hauling wood to offer him $25. But Ulyss’s father did not think the horse was worth that much. He instructed his son to offer $20. Then, if Ralston rejected the offer, Ulyss should offer $22.50. Only if Ralston held out for more was Ulyss to offer the full $25.

Ulyss raced over to Ralston’s farm, eager to put his father’s cunning plan into action. The cagy farmer grinned down at him. “So, boy, how much did your father tell you to pay?” he asked.

Ralston drew himself up and puffed out his chest. “I cannot accept a penny less than $25,” he declared.

“Sold!” And though Ulyss got his colt, he learned a painful first lesson in horse trading: never let the other guy know how much you’re willing to pony up.

When Ulyss’s friends heard the story of his transaction with Ralston, they began making fun of him and taunted him with the nickname “Useless.” Surely he was an imbecile for blurting out his best offer. Surely he would never amount to anything if he couldn’t even manage a simple horse trade. Maybe he really was “Useless Grant” after all.

But Ulyss just ignored their name-calling. He kept the horse he bought from Ralston for four years, practicing day and night until he had mastered every aspect of riding and training. In that time his reputation among the townsfolk grew by leaps and bounds.

By the age of nine, Ulyss was being hired by farmers to “break” their unruly colts by riding them until they were tamed. When horses got sick with distemper, Ulyss was asked to care for them. He drew crowds by riding bareback through the center of town and performing acrobatic feats at full gallop. Each time the circus returned to town, the ringmaster would offer a prize for the most audacious display of trick horsemanship. Again and again, Ulyss always won.

One time the ringmaster even tossed a monkey onto the boy’s shoulders during one of his breakneck rides. The monkey panicked, grabbing Ulyss by the hair and shrieking in terror. For a moment, it looked as if Ulyss might lose control of his mount. But he kept the horse under control until they finished their ride.

So it seemed that Ulyss was not so useless after all. In fact, many people in Georgetown began hiring him to drive them by horse and carriage to Cincinnati and Louisville—some cities were more than sixty miles away. Ulyss’s love of horses gave him a chance to see the wider world beyond his hometown.

As he gained experience with horses, Ulyss became savvier with people as well. The next time he swapped horses with someone, he made sure to drive a hard bargain. He even managed to get the man to kick in $10 cash to seal the deal. When the colt in question got spooked by a barking dog on the ride home, nearly galloping over a 20-foot precipice, Ulyss knew just how to calm him: he removed a bandanna from his pocket, gently blindfolded the animal, and eased him away from the edge of danger.

Ulysses Grant never lost his special bond with horses. When he was seventeen years old, he enrolled at the United States Military Academy at West Point. While there he set a school high-jump record that stood for twenty-five years. “It was as good as a circus to see Grant ride,” one of his fellow cadets recalled.

As a grown-up, Grant served in the Union army during the American Civil War and eventually rose to the rank of general. Despite the bloody and violent war raging around him, Grant would tolerate no cruelty toward animals. Once when he witnessed a man beating a horse, he ordered the man tied to a tree “for six hours as punishment for his brutality.”

Ulysses S. Grant became president of the United States in 1869, and he made a priority of expanding the White House stables. During his eight years in office, he sheltered more horses than any other U.S. president. Because he never liked being driven around by a chauffeur, Grant often saddled one of his horses for a solo ride through the streets of Washington, D.C. One day, as he galloped his way down M Street, a police officer pulled him over for speeding!

When the officer discovered that the law-breaker was the leader of the country, he was embarrassed. But Grant wasn’t the least bit upset. “I was speeding; you caught me,” he said. So the police officer issued him a $5 ticket, and America’s eighteenth president walked back to the White House on foot.